


Broken

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Discussion of Rape, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Trauma, discussions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe.  Having finally recovered Red Dwarf, the boys come across Rimmer living as Ace.  They are shocked to find he has acquired a companion, a traumatised version of Lister he has saved from another dimension.  As Lister struggles to deal with the emotional impact of his other self's tragic situation, he also struggles with the change in dynamic it has triggered in his relationship with Rimmer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            They’d been back on the newly-built Red Dwarf for almost a year when the distress call reached them from a nearby asteroid.  When Kryten first announced that it was coming from Wildfire, Lister didn’t know whether to be happy or frightened.  If it was the Ace he was expecting down there then that was great news.  If it wasn’t...well, then he’d have some soul searching to do.  

            His fears had been put to rest almost immediately.  When the face had appeared on the console after they patched through he knew instantly, instinctively, that this was their Rimmer.  It helped that he wasn’t wearing the gold jacket or wig, but Lister still knew.  “Ace, buddy,” Cat remarked cautiously, “You look different.”  Lister grinned to himself.  Oh, this part was going to be fun.  

“I should hope so,” Rimmer replied, with no attempt to ‘Ace’ up his voice, “I see you lot have upgraded your accommodation since I last saw you.”

“Back in the Red and loving it,” Lister confirmed cheerfully.  “You in a spot of bother down there, Ace?”           

“It’s not a big deal.  Wildfire’s being a bit temperamental.  I’ve docked at this space station to try and sort it out.  It’s quite comfortable and I’ve got plenty of supplies but not much in the way of tools.  I can improvise and fix it myself if I have to but, if you would happen to have a few spare parts around, it would be helpful.”

“Send us over a list of what you need,” Lister told him, “We’ll be down in a jiffy.”

“Thank you, gentleman.  I look forward to your arrival.”  Rimmer patched out.

“What happened to him?” Cat asked, clearly vexed, “Did he get attacked by a polymorph that sucked out all the charisma?”

“No,” Lister said smiling.  He was actually feeling very proud of Rimmer.  Not only had the smeghead managed to survive as Ace, but he had heeded Lister’s words and succeeded in making himself into a different kind of Ace.  What a guy.  “Don’t be pissed at me, guys, but...there’s something I have to tell you...”

            Before they headed down, Kryten took a brief look at the scanners.  “Sirs,” he said, “I don’t want to cause any alarm but the scans have detected faint life signs down there.”

“You don’t think it’s just Rimmer?” Lister squinted at the screen.

“It’s possible, and it might explain why the signal is only faint, seeing as Mr Rimmer is only an electrical life form, but I’m not certain.  I would suggest we take precautions.”

“Oh, okay.  If you think so,” Lister shrugged.  He scooped up a small pistol from the arms cabinet and loaded it, then shoved it into his pocket within easy reach.  “Come on, let’s get going.”

            They set Starbug down in the landing bay next to Wildfire.  Lister didn’t know why, but the sight of the nippy red ship made him smile.  Rimmer had told them to come up and meet him in the galley area of the station, so they piled into the lift and went straight up.  They emerged into a wide bright space with a kitchen and dining area, and hallways spiralling off; no doubt towards living quarters.  “Well, this seems very pleasant,” Kryten remarked, “Mr Rimmer certainly chose wisely when selecting this place for his stopover.”

“All that stainless steel though,” Lister teased, “Hard to keep clean.”

“Not at all, Sir!  Why it would be a joy and a privilege to have such a space to clean.”

Lister saw the movement of a shadow in one of the corridors and stepped forward, “Rimmer!  That you, man?”  There was no answer from the shadows.  “Rimmer?”

“What’s wrong, bud?”

“I thought I saw something moving down there.”  Cat sniffed the air.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I can smell something.  Not Goal-post head though.  I’d remember _that_ smell.  It smells like...” he sniffed again and frowned, confused.

Silently, Lister slid the pistol out of his pocket and flicked off the safety.  “Hello?” he called cautiously, edging around the table.  The shadows moved again, and this time a figure emerged from them.  Lister stumbled backwards in shock.  The figure was him.

            This Lister was dressed in oversized clothes that were probably Rimmer’s and his expression was distant.  “Hi,” Lister said anxiously.  It wasn’t the first or even the second time he’d come face to face with himself, but it never ceased to be startling.  “Erm...This is a surprise.”

“Danger,” the Lister before him said flatly.

“What do you mean?” Lister asked.  He looked down and saw the other him was tightly clutching a gun.  _Okay, okay, so are you.  Chill out._ “Danger where?”

“Danger,” the not-Lister in front of them repeated tonelessly, “Danger.”  

            The unease Lister was feeling grew as he looked into the face identical to his own.  There was something not right with this guy.  He was staring right at him, but it was almost like he was seeing something else.  Something far away.  Slowly, the other Lister raised the hand holding the gun, pointing it directly at them.  “Woah!” Lister took a big step backwards.  “Shoot it!” Cat squealed but Lister faltered.  There was something deeply wrong here, but the idea of firing a gun at someone or something that bore his own face was still repulsive.  He took a small step forward, hoping to connect, hoping to reason, but the other Lister clocked the movement and before he knew it, the gun was aimed squarely at him.  He froze.  The eyes staring back at him were utterly blank.  There was no space for negotiation here.  “Sir, do something!” Kryten urged.  Keeping his hand down low by his side, Lister reluctantly started to raise his own pistol.  Maybe he could squeeze off a shot and take this strange apparition down before it noticed he had a weapon too...

            “Wait!” A familiar voice pealed out urgently and there was the sound of racing footsteps.  Lister hesitated.  The other Lister didn’t move, did not so much as blink. He continued to watch it warily, but stayed his hand as the voice continued, “Don’t shoot.  Nobody shoot.  It’s okay.”  Rimmer appeared in his field of vision, scurrying towards them.  

“Danger,” the not-Lister insisted again, but now there was a slightly different timbre to the voice.  Now there was the faintest tremor of something else, possibly fear, possibly relief, but something that was undeniably emotion.  “No,” Rimmer said soothingly, “No, Dave, everything’s okay.  They’re not dangerous.”  As they watched, Rimmer very carefully approached the figure.  It didn’t turn to him, didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence in any way, but continued staring at them.  With the lightest of touches, Rimmer put his hand over the hand holding the gun and very slowly brought it back down to the figure’s side.  Lister stared, fascinated.  It was like watching a child posing a jointed doll.  “Everything’s okay,” Rimmer reiterated softly, sliding the gun out of the relaxing hand, “I’ll take that now.  You know you aren’t supposed to touch this.  Come and sit down.”  He steered the not-Lister towards the table and chairs and eased him down into a seat.  The figure didn’t respond, or even look at him, but sat obediently.

            Finally, Rimmer turned to them.  “I’m sorry about that,” he said awkwardly, “We don’t usually get visitors.  You startled him.”

“We startled _him_?” Cat responded indignantly.  Lister couldn’t take his eyes off the form now sitting still as a statue in its chair and staring vacantly into the distance.  There was no indication it could still see or hear them.  It was as though it had completely switched off.  “What even is that thing?”  Cat demanded nervously.

“He’s not a thing,” Rimmer replied indignantly.  Lister, who had almost convinced himself that perhaps this was a droid (although why it would have been created to look like him, he couldn’t have explained), took a cautious step forward and saw the faintest motion of the other Lister’s chest.  Breathing.  “He’s human,” Rimmer went on, standing protectively over the strange man, “He’s Lister.  That’s all.”

            Lister felt like something nasty had just slithered down his spine.  Somehow the idea that this empty shell, this expressionless mannequin was human - and was him – was even more disturbing than the idea of a cyborg cast in his image.  “What happened to him?” he asked in a horrified whisper.

“I rescued him,” Rimmer replied, “From an agonoid ship, almost two years ago.”

“And the poor wretch has been in this state ever since then?” Kryten asked, dismayed.

“More or less,” Rimmer said wearily, “They’d had him in their clutches for at least six months by the time I got to him.  I’ll let you imagine what he was like when I found him.   _This_ ,” he cast a sorrowful glance at his charge, “is progress.  Trust me.”   Lister shivered and hugged himself.  He didn’t _want_ to imagine what six months in an agonoid torture chamber would do to a person, and certainly not to him.

            “But why are you still caring for him, Sir?” Kryten enquired, “Why haven’t you returned him to his home dimension and his loved ones?”  Lister glanced at the droid knowingly, but it was an affectionate glance.  He knew what he was thinking.  If this had happened to them, Kryten would have wanted Lister back – in whatever condition – to care for him.  He would never have trusted another soul with the responsibility, and certainly not Rimmer.  

Rimmer shrugged awkwardly, “It’s likely the agonoids slaughtered them.  He’s probably got no-one left.  And...I suppose I’ve always hoped he would get better.  Even if they are alive, I can’t bear the thought of turning up with him like this.  Ace Rimmer is supposed to save people, not bring them back as catatonic shadows of their former selves.”

“You did save him.  It’s not your fault,” Lister told him earnestly.

“Yes, it is,” Rimmer argued sadly, “I didn’t get there soon enough.  The least I can do now is take care of him.”

“But how can you be an inter-dimensional superhero and give him the attention he needs as well?”

“It’s not as hard as you’d think.  I have scaled back a bit on the rescue schedule but, if I need to, then I find somewhere safe to leave him.  He’s very good really, he doesn’t wander off.  He just sits and waits for me to come back.”

            Lister looked again at his other self.  To be fair to Rimmer, he did seem to be doing a good job.  The man before him looked clean and well-fed, probably more so than himself if truth be told.  “Can he hear us?” he asked awkwardly.  It felt wrong to stand here talking about him if he could.  Rimmer simply shrugged.  

“He can hear.  Whether or not he’s listening, I couldn’t possibly tell you.  He does respond to instructions sometimes, but not always.  And occasionally you’ll get a word or two.  Not conversation, not even interaction exactly, more like observations.  But most of the time he’s just...somewhere else.  All I can do is hope that it’s somewhere he feels safe.” Rimmer said sadly.

            Lister forced himself to turn away from those glossy dead eyes.  The sight of himself that way was too chilling, too upsetting.  He needed time to deal with this.  “What’s wrong with Wildfire?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nothing insurmountable.  I could have fixed it myself, but obviously it will be quicker with your help.”

“Will he be...okay with Cat and Kryten if we leave them for a while?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine,” Rimmer replied and Lister thought he detected a hint of annoyance in the reply.  “He’s not dangerous to anyone but himself.”

“Unless someone leaves a gun lying around,” Cat retorted.

“I admit I wasn’t expecting that,” Rimmer confessed, “I wasn’t sure he’d acknowledge anyone was here, let alone feel threatened by it.  I certainly didn’t think he would have the capability to remember where I keep the gun and try to use it.  Maybe he is getting better.”  He glanced hopefully at the solemn figure and, struck by a sudden thought, picked up the gun and opened the chamber.  It was empty.  Rimmer was visibly disappointed.  “I suppose that was too much to expect.”  He put a tender hand on the Lister’s shoulder as he walked away and locked the gun back in the cupboard across the room.  “Yeah, lucky for us,” Cat complained.

“Believe me,” Rimmer told him, “He was far more scared of you than you were of him.  And with good reason.”

            He went back and squatted down in front of the other Lister so they were on eye-level, “I’m going to go and work on the ship now,” he told him softly.  The Lister stared straight through him, “You’re safe with these people.  Kryten will look after you if you need anything.  Do you remember Kryten?  Was there a Kryten where you come from?”  No response.  “I’ll be back soon.”  Rimmer stood up and gestured to Lister and they headed down to the landing bay.

            They walked for a while in awkward silence.  “I’m sorry,” Rimmer said eventually.  “I should have warned you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I thought he’d just be resting in his room; that I could introduce you once I’d explained.  It never occurred to me that he might come out to see what was happening.”

“That’s a good sign though, right?” Lister asked gingerly, “It shows he still has some awareness of what’s happening around him.  It shows a structured, logical thought process.”

“Yes,” Rimmer said, “I suppose so.  Anything he does which is new or surprising is a reason to be optimistic.  Or maybe I’m just grasping at straws.  I don’t know.”

“Do you know if there’s an actual brain injury?” Lister asked cautiously.

“There’s not,” Rimmer shook his head, “Physically he’s completely recovered from his ordeal.  But mentally...”

“He looks healthy,” Lister ventured, “To be honest, when you said it was agonoids, I was surprised that there wasn’t more...damage.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Rimmer said darkly, “You can’t see the scars under his clothes but there was plenty of damage.  They were just working from the inside out.”  Lister swallowed hard, trying his best not to form mental images.  “I can’t tell you what I found when I walked into his cell that day.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about it.  It almost broke me.  And it certainly broke him.  The mind isn’t equipped to deal with that level of horror.”

            Lister fought his own imagination.  What would it take, he wondered, to reduce him to that?  How much pain could he have withstood?  How long would he have lasted in that place before his mind, like his duplicate’s, had simply fractured into a myriad of unrepairable fragments?  “How bad is he?” Lister asked, “Really?  He can obviously still walk – and talk if he wants to – but other than that what else is left?”

“Not much,” Rimmer admitted glumly.  “What happened just now, that’s very rare.  He does wander about from time to time, but more often than not he’ll just stay wherever I put him and stare at the wall.  He can’t dress himself.  He can’t clean himself.  If I didn’t give him food, he’d starve.  If you raise his arm out in front of him and let go, it just stays there until you put it down for him or the muscles give up.”

“And after two years,” Lister asked him gently, “You still think he can come back from this?  That one day he’ll just wake up?”

“No,” Rimmer said bluntly, “I’m not stupid.  I know that whatever happens he’s never going to be the same as he was.  But he might still improve.  One day he might be able to pour himself a glass of water when he feels thirsty, or say yes and no when I ask him simple questions.  That’s all I want.”

            _What about what he wants?_ Lister thought to himself, but said nothing.  They had a lot of work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

            Later that evening they sat around the galley table to eat.  Kryten had prepared a meal but, once Rimmer and Lister had returned from their work, he relinquished care of his silent charge back to Rimmer and excused himself to catch up with his other duties.  Lister watched with a gnawing sense of discomfort as Rimmer cut up the meal into bite-sized pieces, placed a spoon into his other self’s hand and gently curled his slack fingers around it.  “Time to eat now,” he told him encouragingly.  The duplicate stared at the food in front of him in the same way that Lister would have stared at a page full of mathematical equations.  After a moment or two, he dipped the spoon in and cautiously tasted it.  Slowly, he began to eat.  Satisfied, Rimmer turned to his own meal.  

“So, you don’t actually have to feed him at least,” Lister offered, trying to sound positive.  

“No.  It takes him a while to think about it, and even longer to eat it, but he will do it.  I tend to just give him a spoon to eat with though.  We’ve had...issues in the past with any sharp implements.”

“What about other stuff?  I mean, in terms of hygiene and that,” Lister asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“He seems to be okay with using the toilet now.  There was a short time after I rescued him when he was more or less totally incontinent, but he seems to have gotten over that now.  I do have to bathe him though.  I tried putting him in the shower and seeing what he’d do, but he just stands under the water.  He doesn’t actually wash.  Having said that, I have my doubts as to whether that’s because of his problems or just a Lister thing.” Rimmer smiled tentatively.  Lister tried to smile back, but it was a sickly smile.  He ate his food quickly, trying not to look at the pitiful spectacle of his double across the table and, as soon as he was done, went to find Kryten.  As he left the galley, Rimmer was conscientiously wiping some food from his double’s sleeves and rolling them up.

            He found Kryten in the laundry room.  “Hey,” he greeted him, “Need a hand, guy?”

“That’s very kind of you, Mister Lister, but it’s probably best if you leave this to me.  Your folding skills are less advanced than mine.  No offence.”

“None taken.”  Lister toyed unhappily with a loose shirt button in the laundry pile.  Kryten tactfully slid it away from him before he pulled it off, “Is there something troubling you by any chance, Sir?” he asked pointedly.

“Just...y’know,” Lister made a small gesture with his head towards the galley.

“Yes, I know.  I understand this must be very difficult for you, Sir.”

“Why does this bother me so much, Kryten?” Lister leaned back against the counter, rubbing his forehead.  “I know it’s awful.  I know it’s not that poor bastard’s fault that this happened to him, but just being in the same room with him freaks me out.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mister Lister.  To see any creature that has suffered in such a way is distressing.  To see that suffering in a version of yourself, coupled with the fact that you are, if you’ll forgive me, rather more empathetic than the average human makes this particularly challenging for you emotionally.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Lister said vaguely, pretending he knew what empathetic meant.

“And _then_ , of course,” Kryten went on, still busily folding, “There is the more instinctive unease at seeing oneself in a position of such vulnerability.  It is hard for you to feel comfortable about the idea of being utterly dependent on another.  The fact that in this case that other is Mr Rimmer is, I imagine, especially disturbing.”

“He seems to be managing okay,” Lister noted feebly.

“Indeed.  For a person who has historically been motivated primarily by self-interest, Mr Rimmer appears to be caring for your duplicate in a satisfactory way.  Although I’m sure that there are others who could maybe improve on matters,” he added with a sniff.  

Lister gave him a feeble grin, “You hate this just as much as I do, don’t you?”

“It is not in my programming to hate anything, Sir.  I am merely stating that poor Mr Lister deserves the best care available.  I am not sure that being swept along as baggage in the life of the universe’s greatest hero, with all of its risks and dangers, is really the best thing for him.”

“No,” Lister agreed quietly.  The same thought had occurred to him.  Rimmer could not always be there to protect him and, as they had already seen, he was not capable of protecting himself.  When Ace went down in flames one of these days as he always eventually did (Lister had seen the evidence of that with his own eyes in the rings of that planet), he would be leaving behind a creature less well-equipped to survive on its own than a child.  But what was the alternative?   

            They could try to track down his crew but if Rimmer was right, and he probably was, that they were all dead – what then?  The thought of bringing him back to Red Dwarf made Lister faintly nauseous.  He wasn’t sure he could cope with staring into that eerie mirror every day.

            Kryten regarded him with concern.  “I know what you’re thinking, Mr Lister,” he told him gently.  

“Do you?” Lister asked sorrowfully.

“I think so.  And it does not make you a bad person.  You have my word as a mechanoid on that.  The same thought has occurred to me.  I think it has occurred to all of us.  Say it.  You’ll feel better.”  Lister leaned back and stared at the ceiling, trying to fight back the stinging behind his eyes.  “When I think of what must be going on in that head,” he said with difficulty, “ _if_ there’s anything going on in there at all anymore; when I put myself in his place, and think about what I would want if I was him; if I could see what I had become...”  he trailed off.  Kryten waited patiently.  Lister took a deep breath and forced the words out, “I wonder if the poor sod would have been better off dead,” he admitted hoarsely.

            

            That night, in the temporary quarters he’d randomly chosen on this space station, Lister awoke from a nightmare with a gasp.  In his dream he’d followed the sound of weeping through dark corridors.  Eventually, a figure had emerged from the shadows.  It was him, the not-him, the other Lister.  His wide glassy eyes dripped tears of blood but his expression was as smooth and blank as ever.  Lister reached for him, afraid and sickened, but desperate to somehow stop those sticky crimson tears.  The Lister crumpled to the floor as he watched, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and as his head struck the hard metal grating of the floor it cracked and shattered like a porcelain doll.  Lister stared down in horror at the empty, broken shell of the skull but the impassive face that stared back at him remained the same, even as the blood and tears spread in a puddle around it.  Lister did not feel like going back to sleep after that.

Instead, he wandered down to the landing bay and climbed into Wildfire.  “Computer?” he called and the alarmingly sultry voice that he’d never quite got used to replied smoothly, 

“Yes, David?  What can I do for you?”

“Erm...” he shook himself, “Do you have it in your records which dimension Rimmer rescued the alternative me from?”

“Yes, David.”

“Is there a way to check if there is a dimensional counterpoint to Red Dwarf in that universe?  Or a Starbug?”

“Running those checks now, David,” she purred.  Some time later a list appeared on the console screen.  “Here is a list of all previously visited dimensions where I have detected the call sign of a vessel known as Red Dwarf or Starbug.  The dimension that David originates from is not part of this list.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that in David’s dimension these ships have either never existed or have ceased to exist.”

            Lister slumped back in his chair.  Smeg.  So much for Plan A.  Of course, it didn’t mean the guy didn’t have anyone.  Maybe in his dimension they’d used a different ship.  Maybe he’d come from a settlement somewhere.  There were an infinite number of possibilities.  It just meant that finding his home and anyone who could care for him was as good as impossible.  Maybe it was time to talk to Rimmer.

 

            He knocked softly on the door of Rimmer’s room.  When the door opened, Rimmer was standing there in a t-shirt and boxers.  The other Lister was curled in a foetal position on the bed behind him, seemingly asleep.  “What’s wrong?” Rimmer asked.  

Lister was thrown slightly by what he saw.  “Why is he in your bed?”

“We always sleep together,” Rimmer replied openly.  Lister’s expression must have spoken volumes.  “Look, it’s not like that,” Rimmer responded quickly, “It’s what he’s used to.  There’s no other option on Wildfire, remember.”  Lister relaxed slightly, but Rimmer could see a hint of doubt remaining.  “Besides,” he added defensively, “We both sleep better this way.  Sometimes he gets up in the night, starts wandering around.  If I’m here, it wakes me up and I can get him back to bed quickly before he hurts himself.  It’s just safer and easier this way.”

“Whatever,” Lister said briskly, “I think we need to talk.”

“Alright,” Rimmer quietly shut the door and they went back to sit in the now darkened galley.

            Lister wasn’t sure how to start.  “Look,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.  Don’t get me wrong here, the way you’ve taken care of that guy is incredible.  But do you really think this is sustainable?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being Ace is a dangerous gig.  We both know that.  Sooner or later he’s going to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Ace has had sidekicks before.”

“He’s not a sidekick.  He’s totally dependent on you.  If this carries on, either he’s going to get killed or you are.  And either way, for him the result will be the same.”

“What are you trying to say to me, Lister?” Rimmer asked suspiciously.

“I’m saying that for his sake, you need to make a decision.  Either you let him go, or you let Ace go.”

“How can I let him go?” Rimmer asked hotly, “It’s my duty to look after him.  He’s my responsibility.  I can’t just dump him in some other dimension.”  Lister steeled himself, because he knew what he had to say, but smeg he really, _really_ didn’t want this.

“We could look after him,” he offered, his heart sinking even as he said it.  “You could trust us.”

“No,” Rimmer shook his head, “I can’t trust you, Lister.  You know why?  Because I can see the way you feel about him written all over your face.  You might look after him, or at least let Kryten do it.  You’d be kind, when you could bear to go near him at all.  But _you_ ,” Rimmer leaned forward, “would not fight for him.  If it came down to it, whether it was on the battlefield or in the medi-bay, you would not fight for his life.  Because you don’t think his life is worth living.  You see him as a corpse already.  Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Then pass on the flame,” Lister told him, avoiding the accusation, “Once Wildfire is up and running we can find another Rimmer, give them a chance.  That way you can focus on him.  Our lives might never be completely stable but you’ll both be safer on Red Dwarf than on Wildfire.”

“That’s not how the legend is supposed to go,” Rimmer pointed out, disgruntled, “Ace Rimmer is supposed to fight to the death.  Not retire to look after his casualties.”

“What’s more important to you?” Lister asked, “The legend, or the guy asleep in that bed down the hall?”  Rimmer sighed and glared at him resentfully.  

“You know,” he said, after a long pause, “Dimension jumping has always made me travel sick.”


	3. Chapter 3

            They spent the next two days focusing on getting Wildfire operational.  In the evenings, Lister forced himself to spend time with his duplicate.  The strange, silent presence still made him unerringly edgy but he knew this was something he was going to have to come to terms with.  He supposed in time he would become accustomed to it, but it was going to be hard.  Kryten had obviously already become attached to him, the mech loved nothing more than to be needed.  Cat, once he was convinced that the man was genuinely not a threat, seemed to accept him in the same way he might have accepted a new piece of furniture in their midst.  But Lister had to keep reminding himself that he was doing the right thing, because no matter how hard he tried he could not feel good about the idea of living with this chilling reflection of himself.  He could not feel anything but a kind of revolted pity.

            For some reason that he couldn’t explain, watching Rimmer with his duplicate also made Lister uncomfortable.  He thought about what Kryten had said, that seeing himself dependent on Rimmer, someone that in all the years they’d known each other he’d never truly been able to trust, was unnerving.  But there was more to it than that.  When he watched Rimmer with the other Lister, he couldn’t shake the odd sensation that he was watching an imposter.  This didn’t feel like the Rimmer he thought he knew.  He was willing to accept that the responsibility of being Ace had changed the man in some ways, but when he watched him carefully trimming the other Lister’s fingernails, or brushing a stray eyelash from his cheek, something inside him jarred.  He would stare at him, examining every detail because he had never seen Rimmer move that way before.  He had never seen those fingers move with such lightness, or those hands with such gentleness.  He had never seen such concern and tenderness in those eyes and it shook him.  He would start to wonder if he had been deceived, if this was another Rimmer, another Ace.  Then Rimmer would inevitably turn around and say something acerbic to Cat or Kryten and he would relax, because yes, that made sense.  Of course this was Rimmer.  But it would be some time before his heart rate slowed again.

            When the day finally came for Rimmer to take Wildfire and search out his replacement, Lister had seen him off.  “Are you really sure you want to do this, man?” he asked seriously, “You can change your mind, you know.”

“No, I can’t,” Rimmer looked down at the gold flight-helmet in his hands.  “It was fun for a while, I’ll grant you.  But it’s no way to live.  Not really.  Not for me.  Always on the go, never sure where you’ll be tomorrow, what you’ll be facing, or if you’ll make it out alive this time.  I’ve never been that guy, Listy.  Even if I’d wanted Ace’s charm, his confidence, his stupid, _stupid_ hair, I still would have wanted all those things while sitting in a nice armchair with my feet up and a glass of wine in my hand.  When I left, it seemed like a good idea.  It was better than the alternative of drinking urine re-cyc on Starbug for the next ten years or more.  The risk was worth it.  But now...”

“Now we’ve got Red Dwarf back and your armchair is calling?” Lister teased lightly.

“Now, I’ve got something in my life that’s worth more than the glory,” Rimmer replied.  Lister had another of those disorientating moments when he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure who was standing in front of him.  Rimmer didn’t seem to notice his reaction.  “I hope I’ll be back this evening,” he told him, “Tomorrow at the latest.  It shouldn’t be hard to find some other pathetic weasel who wants a bit of excitement in his life.”

“Okay,” Lister stepped away, “I’ll see you later.”

            Feeling inexplicably sad, he made his way back up to the habitation decks.  Oddly enough, he had a strange compulsion to see his double.  He found both him and Kryten in the sleeping quarters.  Kryten had clearly just bathed him and he was dressed in clean clothes.  He was sitting patiently in a chair while Kryten towelled his hair.  This Lister had no dreadlocks, Rimmer claimed they were too difficult to maintain.  Lister pulled up a chair beside him and sat down.  The other Lister paid no attention, staring into space with his usual detachment.  “Has Mr Rimmer gone now?” Kryten enquired.

“Yeah,” Lister replied, “Ace has left the building.”

“Gone.”

            He and Kryten both froze, stared at each other, then stared at the other Lister.  That one word was the first time either of them had heard him speak since his panic at their unexpected arrival.  “Yes,” Lister said softly, “He’s gone.  But he’s coming back soon.  There’s nothing to worry about.”  There was no further response from the other Lister.  He had disappeared back into himself once more.  Lister glanced at Kryten and shrugged helplessly.  He felt a stirring of something inside him.  Not quite warmth; not yet.  But perhaps at last something more than pity.  He looked into the dark eyes before him, the tiny pinpoints of light reflecting from them the only sign of life and sighed.  _If he really thinks you’re worth it_ , he thought to himself, _I suppose it’s time I started making an effort too._   He stood up and took the towel from Kryten’s hands.  “Here.  Let me.”

“Are you sure, Sir?” Kryten asked.

“Yeah,” Lister said reluctantly, “He’s one of us now, right?  Maybe it’s time we started bonding.”

            As he dried his other self’s hair, he couldn’t help but think back to the last time he’d done this.  His twin boys, wrapped in towels, wriggling and giggling as he’d tried to hold onto them both long enough to get them dry, while Rimmer stood in the doorway making snide remarks about his parenting skills.  The next day he’d woken up and they’d been eleven years old.  Did this Lister have that memory too, buried somewhere deep inside?  Was he at this moment watching a perpetually looped reel of internal home movies that kept the darkness at bay?  Or was he hiding inside that darkness like a blanket, wrapped in the comfort of a void of nothingness?  “Jim and Bexley,” he said quietly, “Do you remember them?  Did you have them in your universe?”  Nothing.  Oh, well.  

“It was worth a try, Sir,” Kryten told him supportively, kneeling down on the floor to roll a pair of clean socks onto the Lister’s bare feet.  

            Lister felt the towel catch on something beneath his fingers.  He put it down and tentatively parted the hair to see what it was.  “Kryten,” he said, his voice tense, “Have a look at this.”  The mech stood up and peered at what Lister had found.

“Oh my goodness,” he said.

“Is that what I think it is?” Lister asked, his voice not quite steady.

“It’s a microchip, sir.”

“Why,” Lister concentrated on keeping calm, “is there a chip in his head?”  Kryten bent over to examine it more closely.  

“It seems to be emitting a mild electromagnetic pulse.”  

“ _Why?_ ” Lister repeated, more emphatically.

“As far as I can tell, Sir, the purpose of the chip seems to be to disrupt Mr Lister’s brain function.”

“Did the agonoids do this to him?”

“Unlikely.  They would have wanted him to be totally aware of everything that was happening to him.”

“So, Rimmer did this?”  A cold sense of horror began to spread through Lister’s being.

“Possibly.  We can’t be certain.”

“Why?” Lister repeated again, numb with shock and disgust, “Why would anyone do this?”

“The pulse seems to be directed at the memory centres of the brain.  The obvious answer is that there is something in there that someone does not wish Mr Lister to remember.”

“Is this why he’s...like he is?”

“It’s hard to say with any great certainty what functions the chip is affecting without doing a scan.  The brain is a complex thing.”

“But this can’t be helping, right?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Could we take it out?”

“I _really_ would not recommend that, Sir.  Not without doing some extensive tests first.”

“Right.  Okay,”

           Lister took his double by the arm and lifted him out of the chair.  “What are you doing, Sir?” Kryten asked anxiously.

“We are going down to the hologram suite.  I am going to download what I can of this guy’s memories and find out who did this to him and why.”

“Surely if you wait, we can ask Mr Rimmer...”

“Right now,” Lister growled, “I don’t trust Mr Rimmer as far as I could throw him.”

 

            Down in the hologram suite, Lister settled his other self into the chair and gently attached the electrodes to his head before taking a seat in his own chair.  If this worked he should be able to effectively port himself into his double’s mind and sort through the memories there like video files.

Part of him was still trying to be rational, telling him that he was overreacting, that this was simply a visceral response to the shock of his discovery but he had to know.  Now that the doubt was there he had to purge it, one way or another.  His mind kept going back to the image of his duplicate curled up in Rimmer’s bed and his own immediate gut reaction to the sight.  He thought of all those little touches he had watched and felt uneasy about, the softness that he had never seen in his companion before.  And worst of all, a memory of his own that had now resurfaced and was pulsing unpleasantly in his brain like a boil.  _Yvonne McGruder?  You should have seen the state she was in.  The woman could barely walk straight, let alone see straight.  She had no idea what she was doing.  She didn’t even know who he was.  If he tells you anything different, it’s a damned lie.  She had a concussion for god’s sake._

            At the time, he had given Rimmer the benefit of the doubt over the McGruder affair because, from the eyewitness reports he’d heard, it sounded like she really had thrown herself at him.  Taking into account Yvonne’s status as a formidable boxer and Rimmer’s innate cowardice, Lister was willing to accept the possibility that Rimmer had been frankly too scared to turn her down and, with his usual smarminess, had managed to twist the story into some sort of sexual triumph.  Either way, he had managed to turn the situation to his advantage.  What if he’d done the same here?  What if he’d seen the helpless, damaged creature that sat opposite Lister now and seen another advantage?  Someone who would satisfy his need for company, and maybe other needs as well.  But who could never, ever be allowed to speak about those needs, because Ace Rimmer had an image.  The legend must be upheld.

            Lister gritted his teeth and plugged himself in.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

            There was swirling darkness.  Faces, voices, places.  Time became both infinite and abstract.  Lister flew past the bright vivid pictures around him.  Anything he was looking for would not be here.  He was looking for the deep places, the blurred images, the echoes of something that did not want to be seen.  He heard gunfire, saw blood.  There was a glimpse of something distorted, perhaps Kryten’s head, twisted and smoking.  There was pain, so much pain.  The scenes before him fizzed and popped with static interference, but he saw frames of a dark room.  A leering, sinister face with peeling synthetic skin.  Gleeful laughter.  In a few disconnected seconds of jumpy motion he opened his eyes in that dark place and looked down at himself.  What he saw made him scream, and his screams chimed with the memory of those other screams, his double’s screams, and all at once everything spun and went black.

 

            Lister’s eyes flew open back under the bright lights of the hologram suite and he realised he was still screaming.  He heaved desperately for breath and scrambled out of his chair, pulling the electrodes from his head in one violent jerk.  Someone grabbed his arm and he screamed again.  “What the hell are you doing, Lister?” Rimmer demanded angrily.  There was a low moan from across the room.  They looked up and saw Lister’s double still in his chair, eyes stretched wide, apparently in the grip of some sort of seizure.  Rimmer dropped Lister’s arm and immediately ran to him.  He pulled the electrodes loose and spoke to him soothingly.  “Dave, it’s okay.  It’s all okay.  I’m here.  You’re safe.  It’s not real.  None of it’s real.”

“I saw...” Lister croaked from the floor, “Oh God, Rimmer, I saw...”  His stomach lurched and he vomited.  Rimmer looked down at him with no sympathy.  

“Luckily for you,” he told him angrily, “I shut that thing down before the worst part.  Otherwise you might have come out of that program in a similar state to him.”  The Lister in his arms was beginning to quiet now, his breathing slowing to a more regular pace.  Rimmer looked down at him with deep concern, his expression pained.  “Get up,” he said briskly to Lister, “Help me take him back.  He needs to lie down for a while.”

“Yeah, well, so do I,” Lister protested, wiping tears out of his eyes.  Rimmer turned to him scathingly.  

“You watched a nasty horror movie that was too scary for you.  _He_ lived through it.  Now pull yourself together and help me.”

 

            After they’d put the duplicate to bed, Rimmer sat him down in the galley and turned on him.  “Why would you do that to him?  Why would you do it to _yourself?_ ”  Kryten handed Lister a mug of tea and he took it with shaking hands.  There was still a cold sweat across his brow and his heart was pounding.  He ignored Rimmer’s question and asked one of his own.  “ _Why_ ,” he asked hoarsely, “did you not just put him out of his misery when you found him?  Why the hell would you think it was kinder to let him live after going through that?”  

Rimmer sank into his own chair and put his head in his hands.  “I’ve asked myself every day for the past two years if I made the right choice.  When I found him in that cell, when I saw what had been done to him, I was going to end it there and then.  I even took my gun out.  If he’d been unconscious, or even if he’d been screaming, I probably would have done it.  But he just stared at me.  Lister, you’ve never seen anything like the look in those eyes.  The pain, the sheer mindless terror.  When I looked at him, looked at _you_ , I only knew one thing.  I did not want him to die in that place.  Whatever happened, I could not let him die in that cell, in that way.  I...put him back together as best as I could.  I flew him straight to the nearest dimension where I knew they could help, fully expecting him to die at any moment.  Even if that happened, I thought it would be worth it all if it meant he’d go out lying in a clean soft bed, rather than the way I’d found him.  But he held on.  He pulled through.  His mind was gone, but his body was getting stronger every day.  And then I didn’t know what to do.  After putting him through everything that had been necessary to save his life, how could I take it away again when I realised that there were some things that simply weren’t healing?  I’ve held onto the belief that if he was strong enough to survive, that perhaps a part of his mind survived too, and that maybe one day with time and patience, he’d come back.”

“And the chip in his head?” Lister asked bitterly, “What was that supposed to achieve?”  Rimmer glared at him,

“What do you think?  After what you saw in there?”

“Why didn’t you just erase the memories if you thought it was that important?”

“The doctors I spoke to said it wouldn’t be enough.  You can erase the memories but you can’t remove the scars, the trauma they leave.  They said removing something that immense would cause irreversible brain damage, he’d never recover.  Instead it was decided to scramble the memories.  Let them break up and maybe heal piece by piece over time.  He’ll still remember occasional fragments, but hopefully they’re too small to cause real distress.  Just odd flashes of a bad dream he once had.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s a vegetable, so long as he’s a nice calm vegetable, right?” Lister asked sarcastically.

“You have no idea what they did to him!” Rimmer rounded on him furiously, “You can sit there and judge me all you want, but you’ve never heard the way he used to scream in the night.  You never saw the fits he’d have when the flashbacks overwhelmed him.  One time I woke up in the night and found him lying on the bed next to me trying to cut open his scars with my penknife.  Whatever you think about the ethics of it, that chip is the reason he can finally sleep at night.  I think it’s worth it.”

“How can he get better if he can’t remember anything?” Lister demanded.

“How is he ever going to get better if he does?” Rimmer countered.  “You don’t get it, do you?  The chip is not the problem.  The chip is not the reason he can’t function normally.  His mind has been completely broken ever since the first moment I saw him.  That chip is the only chance he has of ever piecing it back together.”   

Lister leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands.  “I don’t know,” he said, his own emotions starting to override everything else.  “I can’t feel good about this.  I can’t feel good about _any_ of this.  You should have killed him.  You should have just killed him there and then, and then none of this would matter!”

“This isn’t about you!” Rimmer told him angrily, “It doesn’t matter if you think you’d be better off dead than like him, or how you’d feel about someone putting a chip in your head.  Stop projecting all your own hang-ups and neuroses about authority and control onto him.  He’s a different Lister, from a different dimension.  He’s not you and you had no right to invade his mind and drag out memories that have nothing to do with you.  How did you think that would help?  What did you expect to find?”

            Lister shrank down in his seat.  He was ashamed to voice those suspicions now, ashamed of what it said about him.  Rimmer was right.  This whole thing had been a reflection of his own issues.  He’d seen that chip and it had triggered a wave of fury and revulsion that he couldn’t control.  He’d immediately jumped to all the worst conclusions, assuming that it was being used to oppress, to control, to enslave, even to rape.  The thought that it was being used to help had never once crossed his mind.  “I just...” he faltered hopelessly.

“What?” Rimmer demanded angrily.  Lister closed his eyes and hung his head, mortified.  

“I just had to be certain,” he said quietly.

“Certain of what?”

“That you could be trusted,” Lister told him.  “I had to know that you weren’t keeping him this way for your own reasons.”

“What reasons could I possibly have for wanting to keep him this way?”

“Power,” Lister said simply, “Control.  Loneliness,” he fixed Rimmer with a look, his face burning as he stressed the last word.  

            Rimmer stared him down.  “Is that really what you think of me?”

“We go back a long way.  And we both know that the wig does not maketh the man.  You have to admit that you have not always been the noble hero you are now.  There have been times when you have been a downright bastard.”

“I won’t deny that,” Rimmer said coldly, “But do you really think I would stoop that low?”

“What would Yvonne McGruder tell me if I asked her?” Lister asked him flatly.  

Rimmer’s jaw tightened.  “I see.”

“Well?”

“Yvonne would say I did nothing that she did not insist upon me doing.  And while in retrospect, it was not my finest hour, I was in many ways at that time just as confused and vulnerable as she was.  All I knew was that something was happening to me that had never happened before and I if I didn’t seize the chance it might never happen again.  I’m not proud of it, but I can’t take it back now.  And I’d like to think that I’m not that man anymore.”

“Okay,” Lister said softly, “I’m sorry.”

            Rimmer got up from the table.  “Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Us coming back to Red Dwarf with you.  Maybe it would be better all around if I just stayed here with him.”

“Look, I said I was sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.  The fact is that you can’t stand being around him.  Everything about him upsets you.  Who he is, how he is, his past, his present, that chip in his head – the whole package.  You can’t deal with it, Lister.  And I’m not sure that forcing the two of you to live together is going to be beneficial to either of you.”

“Sir,” Kryten interjected, “I strongly believe that Mr Lister – your Mr Lister – would have a far better quality of life on Red Dwarf with us than stranded here with you.”

“I can take care of him by myself,” Rimmer replied frostily, “I’ve done it for two years and I’ll do it for as long as necessary.”

“You can,” Lister told him, “It doesn’t mean you should.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got no transport left.  If something happens here, you’ll be trapped.  Both of you.”  Rimmer considered this.  “And if something happens to you, your programme corrupts or the power goes, what then?  What happens to him?”  Rimmer pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwing shut as he tried to ignore what Lister was saying.  “Are you really willing to take that risk?  Of leaving him all alone in the dark with no-one else to care for him?  With nothing except those fractured memories spinning in his head?”

“Stop it,” Rimmer snapped, “Stop trying to manipulate me.”

“Then stop trying to pretend what I’m saying isn’t true.”

“Why do you care?” Rimmer confronted him, “You don’t even want us back.  He creeps you out and I’m a downright bastard according to you.”

“I want _you_ back,” Lister said surprising himself, “Bastard or not, you’re part of this crew.  You always will be.  And if he comes as part of the package, then so be it.  If he’s important to you, he’s important to all of us.”  Rimmer eyed him warily.  

“And you think you can cope with this?”

“I know I can,” Lister told him, “I won’t pretend it’s going to be easy but we will make it work.  I promise you.  But please come home.”

“Home?” Rimmer asked with a slightly cynical smile, “The big red trash can?”

“What other home do you have?  Do any of us have?” Lister replied with a shrug, “I’m guessing Wildfire’s gone for good?”

“Yes,” Rimmer confirmed, “The first Rimmer I found snapped it up.”

“Well, then?”

            Rimmer’s shoulders relaxed slightly, “You’re right.  He needs a more secure environment.  Coming back to Red Dwarf like we’d planned would be the best thing for him.”

“And for you,” Lister told him.  Rimmer shrugged indifferently,

“My needs are minimal and the safety of the universe is no longer my problem, as of today.  He needs to be my priority now.”

“You’ve made the right decision, Sir,” Kryten told him, obviously relieved.

“I’m going to go and check on him,” Rimmer headed back to his room, “You’re more than welcome to supervise if you feel it necessary,” he shot back at Lister over his shoulder.  Lister winced.  

            “Are you feeling better, Mr Lister?” Kryten asked gently.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Lister grumbled.  He wondered if he’d have nightmares later.

“Don’t be despondent, Sir.  Tomorrow we’ll be back on Red Dwarf and you can finally stop worrying.  Mr Rimmer will finally have all the time and assistance he needs in order to care for Mr Lister properly.”

“Yeah,” Lister said shortly, standing up and heading back to his own room, “Great.”


	5. Chapter 5

            Lister had expected that once they were back on Red Dwarf that Rimmer would move back in with him, or at least to a room of his own back on the officers deck, and let Kryten take greater responsibility for the other Lister’s day to day care.  Rimmer however, had other ideas.  He wanted to move back into their original quarters with his charge, to see if it helped him to settle or even helped bring back any memories.  Lister was sceptical, but went along with it in an effort to be seen as supportive.

            He tagged along, helping Kryten carry the few belongings the pair had kept from Wildfire, as Rimmer led his other self by the hand into their old room.  “Look,” Rimmer told him softly, “You’re home.  Remember your old room?  I’m going to let you have the bottom bunk this time and I’ll be just in the bed above if you need anything.”  The other Lister stared, disinterested, at a point across the room.  He didn’t even look around.  Lister withheld an impatient sigh.  This whole thing was one big, stupid, pointless gesture.  The guy had no idea where he was.  They probably could have stuck him in a broom cupboard and got the same reaction.  “I still think you’d both be more comfortable on the officer decks near me,” he chimed in.

“We have to give this a try at least,” Rimmer argued, “Just give it time.  It might stir something eventually.”

“Fish,” the other Lister said thoughtfully.

           The three of them exchanged glances.  “Are you hungry, Sir?” Kryten asked him attentively.  Rimmer shook his head, 

“He shouldn’t be.  He’s had lunch.  He’s probably just picked that up from Cat at some point,” he rolled his eyes, “I suppose I should be grateful that he is listening to what we say.”

“Fish,” he repeated again.

“Yes, okay,” Rimmer patted his hand reassuringly.  “I wonder what he’ll pick up next?” he remarked wearily, “Smeg, probably.”

            Lister scrutinised his double’s expression.  It was, as always, calm and placid.  Still, it was unusual enough for the man to speak, let alone repeat himself.  He put the box he was carrying down on the table and as he straightened up, something occurred to him.  He followed the direction of his other self’s seemingly random, but nonetheless fixed gaze.  “Wait here,” he said quietly, “I’ve got an idea.”

            He returned shortly, carrying something bulky in his arms.  Rimmer’s eyes widened.  “You don’t think...?” he murmured.

“We’ll see,” Lister said cautiously.  He placed the fish tank, with Lennon and McCartney still lazily to-ing and fro-ing as they had for the past three million years, back on the shelf where they had sat before he’d moved quarters and before the accident.  In the spot his double had been staring at.

           They stared at him, waiting with hushed breath, but he didn’t react.  Rimmer looked crushed.  “Never mind,” he said, with indifference that was clearly faked.  “It was a nice thought, Lister.”  He turned away and began to gather items out of the box to unpack.  Lister went to help him but, as he did so, the double moved and took a single step towards the fish tank.  “Rimmer,” he whispered urgently.  As the three of them watched, he edged slowly towards the fish the way an ornithologist would move towards a rare and nervous specimen, as though expecting them to vanish at the slightest provocation.  When he was standing beside the tank, he reached up very slowly and touched the glass with an expression of serene fascination.  “Fish,” he said again, almost lovingly.

            Lister felt his eyes fill with tears and silently chastised himself.  This wasn’t a miracle.  The prince had not magically awoken from his slumber and returned to life.  There was no guarantee that this meant anything at all.  But somehow it still broke his heart.  Rimmer crossed the room, “Do you remember this?” he asked softly and, from the tremor in his voice, Lister suspected he was holding back tears too. “Do you remember Lennon and McCartney?”  The other Lister did not respond.  He seemed totally absorbed.  Rimmer gently lay his hand over the hand on the fish tank and Lister drew himself up, swallowing back the tears that had threatened.  “He can keep them,” he offered, “If you think it will help.”

“It can’t hurt,” Rimmer replied, without looking round, “Thank you.”

Lister didn’t know what else to say.  He turned around and walked out, heading back to his own room, wondering why he couldn’t stop trembling. 

 

            Weeks passed but nothing changed.  Lister couldn’t understand how, after two years of this, Rimmer could still have the energy to examine every facet of his double’s behaviour each day searching for improvement.  He tried his best to be positive and supportive, because...well, that was what everyone expected.  That was supposed to be what he was good at.  Good old Listy, ever the optimist.  But smeg it all, sometimes it was hard.  Sometimes when he was staring across the table at Rimmer trying to wheedle a response out of his other self (Do you like the curry Kryten made you?  Are you still hungry?  Would you like a bath after dinner?) it made him want to get up and scream.  _He’s not going to answer you!  He’s never going to answer you!  Why can’t you see that?_ And then he’d remember that quavering note of emotion he’d heard when his other self touched the fish tank, or when he’d said ‘danger’ in the moments they’d first met; as ethereal as the chime after you flicked a fine crystal glass or the sigh of a solar wind outside the ship.  And he’d swallow back the scream and force himself to be kind and pleasant and patient, because he knew why Rimmer couldn’t give up.  

There _was_ still some sign of life behind those far-away eyes but it was like a faulty light-bulb, flickering on and off unpredictably.  Maybe with the right twist it _might_ flare back into life some day, but watching it continue to sputter indefinitely was both draining and infuriating.  The reality of how hard it was going to be to live with this, for years and years, was truly beginning to dawn on Lister.  And the worst thing was, he couldn’t hide it.  Rimmer and Kryten were both devoted to their helpless patient, Cat really didn’t seem bothered by it at all because he simply didn’t give a toss.  Lister was alone in his irrepressible discomfort with the man, and it made him feel awful.  He’d noticed Rimmer and Kryten trying to keep the other Lister away from him, caring for him mainly in his sleeping quarters, but that just made Lister feel worse.  Smeg knew it was bad enough for the guy being trapped inside his own head, without spending hours at a time shut inside that room.  He couldn’t tell if they were doing it to make him feel better, or if they felt that his negative vibes were in some way bad for his other self and were trying to protect _him_.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care.  He did.  He wanted the guy to be as happy and comfortable as possible.  He wanted him to get better.  But he couldn’t change how he felt.

 

They’d been back on board for several months when an alarm in the night called them to the Drive Room.  Holly was still offline, but the basic systems were still keeping the ship running.  The security alerts had picked up a breach.  An escape pod had overridden the entry codes for the landing bay and docked with them.  The cameras showed a group of four armed simulants leaving the pod.  “What do we do?” Lister asked.  

“Suggest we seal off the cargo and landing bays,” Kryten offered, “That will hold them for a while and stop them escaping and hiding somewhere else on the ship.”

“Agreed,” Rimmer nodded, “It will be easier to go down there and pick them off if they’re penned in.”

“You want us to go down there?” Cat exclaimed.

“We’ve dealt with simulants before.”

“We’ve been lucky before,” Lister reminded him nervously.

“Listen, they’re not as invincible as you think.  Their body armour is pretty impenetrable but the head is the weak spot.  Find some decent cover, keep your distance and aim for the head.”

“You’ve done this before?” Lister asked guardedly.

“More than once,” Rimmer assured him, “And if I can do it, then god knows you two should be able to manage it.”  

            “Okay,” Lister shared a nervous glance with Cat, “Lets charge up some bazookoids and get down there.  Kryten,” he addressed the mech, “You stay here.  Keep an eye on the security cameras and keep us updated on the radios as to their position.”

“Will do, Sir.”

            “Danger,” a small voice said behind them.  Rimmer turned to the other Lister, who he’d awoken and brought with him when the alarms sounded.  

“David, I want you to go back to the room and wait there for me.  You’ll be safe up here, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Danger,” the Lister insisted, staring at the security cameras.  Rimmer gently cupped his jaw and turned his face away from them.  

“It’s okay.  We can deal with this.  I’ll come back when we’ve sorted everything out.  Promise.  Come on,” he put an arm around him and led him out, “I’ll take you back.”  He glanced over his shoulder at Cat and Lister, “Get yourselves ready.  We’ll meet back here in a few minutes.”

            The three of them, dressed and armed, made the descent down into the bowels of the ship.  They’d only had time to half charge the bazookoids, nervous that otherwise the sims might break out before they got down there, but Rimmer was confident that it should be sufficient to deal with just four intruders.

            The first one charged them as they opened the cargo bay doors.  All three of them fired, Cat and Lister more in panic than anything else, but somehow between them they managed to take the sim out.  “One down,” Rimmer remarked, “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Yeah,” Lister agreed, heart pounding, “Piece of cake, man.”

            They left the body lying in the corridor, stepped through into the cargo bay and re-sealed the doors behind them.  “Okay, let’s split up,” Rimmer said, “We’ve got one each to find and destroy.  Kryten, give us directions.”  


	6. Chapter 6

            Lister moved through the maze of crates, trying to keep his footsteps and breathing soft.  A bullet whistled past him and he threw himself down into one of the avenues, hearing the sound of more bullets hitting the crates around him with terrifying force.  He stayed down, letting the simulant shoot. _That’s right, pal_ , he thought with grim satisfaction. _You waste that ammo.  You’re doing me a favour._   When it finally went quiet, he peered through a gap in the boxes.  He could just see the simulant prowling down the row, looking for him.  He couldn’t take a shot from down here though.  Bracing himself, he rolled across the row, squeezing off two shots with the bazookoid as he did so.  He heard the explosions as they connected, but judging by the way the sim was now swearing at him, they had not been fatal.  Smeg.  Another meteor storm of bullets impacted around him and he huddled down close to the ground.  He slowed his breathing and tried to compose himself.  He’d blown his cover.  That meant he probably only had time for one shot left.  He couldn’t trust the heatseekers to target the head like he needed to do.  This was going to be down to a quick draw.  He huddled back against the wall and trained his gun on the opening above him.  He heard the footsteps dragging closer as the sim approached.  He had the advantage of light, he was hidden in the shadows, the sim was in full view.  The moment it appeared around the corner of the boxes and saw him, it grinned.  Lister wasted no time.  He narrowed his eyes, adjusted his aim and fired.  The sims head exploded in a shower of red sparks.

He slumped back, relief and adrenaline fizzling through him.  After a moment or two, the sound of gunfire elsewhere roused him.  He still had maybe one or two shots left in his weapon, maybe he could help someone else.  He dragged himself up and headed towards the sound of battle.

He found Rimmer cornered in a different part of the bay.  It looked like he’d tried to engage the same ploy Lister had used of drawing out his opponents fire, but he hadn’t counted on one thing.  This simulant had two weapons and he only had one.  Judging by the sparing way Rimmer was firing off responses, Lister guessed he couldn’t have much power left.  Lister couldn’t get a clear shot from his viewpoint but he fired off a shot anyway, hoping the distraction might give Rimmer the opportunity he needed.  The sim spun and opened fire and Lister dived for cover.  A shot from Rimmer’s bazookoid glanced off its shoulder and it roared.  “After I’m done with your friend, you’re next, human scum!”  Lister crawled forward on his elbows.  He could hear the clicking sound now of Rimmer’s bazookoid.  He was out of ammo.  Lister gulped.  He himself only had one shot left.  Why hadn’t he thought to take the weapon off the simulant he’d just killed?  He saw the sim stalking towards the crates where Rimmer was concealed.  

One shot.  One shot that had to count or they were both dead.  Lister launched himself forward, took aim and fired.  The shot hit the simulant square in the chest and sent it reeling backwards but, all too soon, it was on its feet again.  Lister stood helplessly in the corridor, panting.  He was a sitting duck here, but it didn’t matter.  He’d failed and running was pointless now.  The simulant glared at him and raised its weapon to kill him.  He held his breath, waiting for death.  A bazookoid flew through the air and clouted the simulant hard in the head.  “Over here, bogbot!” Rimmer snarled.  The gun swivelled away from Lister and he yelled out in torment, “RIMMER, NO!”

            There was the echoing retort of a gunshot from behind Lister and the sim staggered.  It spun around, firing wildly into the dark row of crates the shot had come from, then crumpled to the ground, red sparks fireworking from its head.  

Stunned, Lister raced forward and grabbed Rimmer’s arm, “You okay?”

“Yes,” Rimmer’s eyes were wide but his voice was steady, “I’m fine.  That was a good shot.”

“It wasn’t me,” Lister admitted, “I’m all out of ammo.  It must have been Cat.”

“Well, where is he?”  Rimmer looked past him, squinting into the shadows.

“That’s a very good question,” Lister turned around and shouted for the feline but there was no reply.  “Kryten?” he tried.  

“It can’t have been Kryten.” 

“It makes no sense.  Maybe he just malfunctioned.”

“No,” Rimmer shook his head, “I heard shots.  We both did.”  The thought hit them both at the same time as they remembered the bullets that the simulant had sprayed in that direction as it fell.  Lister gulped, “You don’t think he was hit?”  

“We’d have heard him cry out.” 

“We’d have heard anyone cry out.”  Rimmer’s face went white suddenly.

“Not anyone,” he said faintly.  He bolted away.  

“Rimmer, wait!” Lister shouted, tearing after him.  He knew what his companion was thinking. “Calm down!  You can’t be sure!”  It wasn’t possible, he told himself anxiously.  There was just no way...

   Rimmer didn’t stop.  He flew down the lines of storage crates, frantically calling, “Dave!  David!!!”  Then skidded to a stop.  Lister almost collided with him.  From behind a row of crates, a thick trickle of blood was spilling out across the floor.            

Rimmer dived in there and Lister followed him slowly, dazed with horror.  He saw Rimmer kneeling on the hard ground, cradling his own limp body.  The other Lister’s eyes were open and still characteristically blank, he was breathing weakly in short little gasps.  There was a black simulant hand-cannon grasped loosely in his fingers.   Blood streaked one side of his face and his neck.  Part of his skull was a dark gory mess.  Lister pressed a hand to his mouth, leaning against the crates for support.  In a flash, the nightmare he’d had weeks ago came back to him, of that shattered porcelain doll-Lister lying broken in its own blood.  Now here it was in cold stark reality.  Rimmer was rocking him back and forth, distraught, “Dave!  Oh god, what are you doing down here?”

“He must have followed us,” Lister whispered, staring at the gun and remembering the body they’d left outside the cargo bay doors.

“Why???  He’s never done anything like this before!”

“Except once,” Lister reminded him numbly, “When he was frightened.”

Rimmer shook his head uselessly, “But he was safe upstairs!  I told him I was going to come back for him!”

“Perhaps,” Lister swallowed hard, “he wasn’t frightened for himself.  Perhaps he was frightened for you.”  

            “We have to help him,” Rimmer said desperately, “We have to get him to the medi-bay.”  Lister didn’t move.  Rimmer’s words were meaningless.  The man was dying even as they spoke and no amount of medical attention would save him now.  Not with half of his head missing.  “Didn’t you hear me?!” Rimmer insisted, “We have to do something!”

“Rimmer...” Lister said.  It was all he could manage, but the tone of his voice said everything he couldn’t.  The other Lister began to quiver lightly in Rimmer’s arms, his eyes still staring hazily up at the ceiling far above them.  Rimmer bent over him, holding him tight, tears starting to pour down his face.  “How could I have let this happen?” he asked, his voice raw with anguish, “I was supposed to protect him.”

“You’ve protected him for two years,” Lister told him, “I think he wanted to return the favour.”

“I should never have left him alone.”

“Don’t,” Lister said, pained, “You couldn’t have forseen this.  None of us could.”  He was still in shock that this was happening, that this vapid shadow he’d thought as good as dead had somehow surfaced from the dark whirlpool of his own mind long enough to find them, find a weapon and shoot it, saving them both in the process.  It was staggering.  “I don’t know if you can hear me,” Rimmer croaked, gazing down at the trembling figure in his arms, “But I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”

            The other Lister started to twitch, his fingers clenching in small spasms.  His skin was waxy now and pale, but his expression remained as sweet and tranquil as it ever had.  Lister wondered what he was seeing, if he could feel the pain, if he knew he was dying.  He hitched in one small final breath and Lister and Rimmer both held their breath with it.  His lips parted and he whispered softly, “Rimmer....” and then the last remaining light in those dark eyes faded away and there was silence.

            “No,” Rimmer said, clutching him.  Lister staggered away.  If Rimmer had screamed he could have coped, if he had sobbed that would have been manageable.  But that small sound of grief and despair had been more than Lister could stand.  He stumbled away from the awful tableau before him, walked away from every sight and trace of blood and crumpled to the ground, buried his face in his knees and wept silently until the others found them.


	7. Chapter 7

            Lister sat through the funeral service the next day wishing he could be anywhere else.  It was disturbing enough to watch yourself die, without then being forced to attend your own funeral, but he knew it had to be done.  Whatever his feelings about the whole thing there was no denying that if things had gone differently yesterday, there would be two urns sitting on the black-draped table right now and he would be one of them.  He owed it to the man to pay his respects.

            Rimmer gave the eulogy, his face pale and haggard, his eyes red-rimmed.  “I can’t say much about your life,” he told the urn sadly, “I know so little about who you were before I found you.  I don’t know if your friends called you Lister or Spanners.  I don’t know what your favourite film or food was.  I can’t play a song for you that I know you loved or tell a joke that always made you laugh.  I never even _heard_ you laugh.  All I know for certain, is that you lived a life three million years longer and at least fifty years shorter than you deserved.  You suffered more in that time than any other human being, in any dimension of reality, that I’ve ever known.  You were so strong, so resilient, so brave.  And although I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself for what happened to you, or for the way you died, there is a part of me that is both proud and awed that, despite everything, you still went down fighting.  None of us will ever forget you, or the sacrifice that you made, particularly those of us who are only here today because of your actions.  I hope and I pray that, wherever you are now, you are happy, you are at peace, you are finally free.  Because I will miss you more than you could ever know.”  Rimmer kissed his fingers and pressed them to the top of the urn.

            Lister watched with a queasy feeling in his stomach as they ejected the urn into space.  So small, everything he was and ever had been reduced down to a pile of dust, now to float forever out in the icy void.  A sick sense of his own mortality shook him and he excused himself, leaving Rimmer staring out of the window as the urn gently spun away out of sight.

 

A couple of hours later, when the chills had started to pass, he went to find Rimmer.  He was sitting at the table in his quarters, watching the robotic fish performing their wonky aquatic dance.  He looked stricken.  Lister steeled himself.  “Rimmer,” he said tremulously, “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Rimmer replied shortly, “You’re relieved.”

“Hey,” Lister said softly, hurt, “Come on.”

“Don’t try to hide it.  You always thought he’d be better off dead, right from the beginning.  You even told me I should have killed him.  Well, now he’s dead and you’ve got your wish, so don’t start crying crocodile tears.”

“I never wanted...”

“You never wanted him here at all.   That’s what you never wanted,” Rimmer snapped.   

Lister cringed under the onslaught.  “You couldn’t stand the sight of him.  He never did a thing to hurt you, but you hated him!  I could see it in you!  You hated him because it rattled your ego to see yourself so helpless.  He made you question whether you were as strong as you always believed you were.  He made you question whether you were really as _moral_ as you always believed you were and you hated him for it!” 

“Rimmer!”

“Admit it!”

“Fine!” Lister shouted back, “You want me to say it?  Yes!  I hated him!  I _hated_ him!”  Rimmer’s look of surprise was almost comical, but it was not as great as Lister’s own surprise at the flood of emotion that had suddenly burst forth.  He felt anger, shame and sorrow rise up inside him, his face burning red as it overcame him, as all the things he’d wanted to say for weeks came tumbling out.  

“It’s all true, everything you just said!  But you know what I really hated about him?  The fact that he somehow managed to do more in two years to turn you into a decent human being than I managed to do in all the time we ever knew each other, and he did it without even needing to speak.  He managed to make you care about him. He made you care enough to give up _everything_ for him.  And I hate it that after all we’ve been through, you and I, everything we’ve seen and done, and lived and died through that I mean less to you than he did.  Do you understand?  _I hate that I mean less to you than that pathetic broken doll!”_  

He realised he was screaming and drew in a deep, trembling breath.  Rimmer was staring at him, dumbstruck.  “I’m sorry,” Lister muttered, turning to go.  “I’m sorry.”

“Wait a minute,” Rimmer grabbed hold of his arm.  Lister cringed, expecting a blow.  He deserved one after what he’d just said.  “Tell me something,” Rimmer demanded, “When we first met, was I the kind of guy who would clean up someone who’d wet themselves?  Would I have been able to soothe someone having a trauma flashback?  Would I even have cared?”

“God, no,” Lister replied, too surprised to sugar coat the response.

“And what do you think has changed since back then?  What do you think made the difference?”

“I don’t know,” Lister said weakly, “You spent some time as Ace, I suppose...”

“And when we first met, could I have been Ace Rimmer?  Would I have snuck onto an agonoid ship and risked my life to rescue someone else?”

“No.”

“So what changed, Lister?  What turned me into the man standing here now?”

“I...I don’t...”

“You did!” 

Rimmer grasped his shoulders and shook him slightly, “Don’t you see that?  _You_ are the reason, the one and only reason, for all of this.”

“But you loved him,” Lister protested resentfully, “I could see it.  Every time you touched him, I could see it.”

“Yes,” Rimmer said softly, “I did.  You can’t care for someone that way, for that long, if you don’t.  But I didn’t love him because I felt guilty, or because I saw him as some delicate, saintly being that needed my protection.  I loved him, because I love David Lister.  And what I really wanted, more than anything, was for him to be David Lister again.  I used to dream that one day I would look at him and see your smile lighting up that face.  I wanted to bring _you_ back to life inside him.”

“But you don’t love me,” Lister replied stupidly.

“Of course I do,” Rimmer said impatiently.

“You don’t act like it!”

“Neither do you,” Rimmer remarked, “And yet you seem remarkably distressed by the idea that I might care about someone else more than you.”  

“You haven’t shown the slightest interest in me since we found you,” Lister told him hotly, “Everything from the moment we arrived on that asteroid revolved around _him_.”

“Because it needed to.  You cannot deny that he needed me far more than you ever have.”

“How do you know?” Lister asked furiously, “You went off to become Ace and you never gave a thought to whether I needed you here or not!”

“My leaving,” Rimmer reminded him, “Was just as much your decision as it was mine, if I recall.  And honestly, would you really be so upset right now if I was still the man you waved goodbye to?”

“I’ve always cared about you.  That’s one of the reasons I encouraged you to go,” Lister argued, “It just hurts that you didn’t learn how to truly love someone until after you left.  And it hurts that that someone wasn’t me.”

“Well, I always cared about you too,” Rimmer replied, “But it was easier to show it when there was no-one else but us.  And far, far, easier because I knew he couldn’t laugh at or reject me.”  There was a sudden terrible sadness in Rimmer’s expression and he turned his back on Lister, his voice faltering.  “It was enough to be able to finally show someone how much I cared.  I didn’t need him to be able to thank me or reciprocate those feelings.”

            Moved, Lister went to him, wrapped his arms around his waist and lay his cheek against his back.  “What are you doing?” Rimmer asked grouchily.

“What he would have done,” Lister told him hoarsely, “If he could.  Because he did love you, I know he did.”

“We’ll never know why he did what he did yesterday,” Rimmer replied glumly, “There’s no way to be sure what he was thinking.”

“Maybe not.  But it doesn’t matter.  The first time I met him, when he was pointing that gun at me, there was no emotion, no recognition, no _nothing_.  But the moment you came in, the moment he heard your voice, that changed.  Suddenly there was a person in there.  Something inside him woke up, just for a few seconds, because he knew you were close.”

“Really?” Rimmer asked tearfully.

“Really,” Lister insisted.  “And maybe you’re right, maybe we’ll never really know what happened yesterday.  But one thing I do know is that guy died with your name on his lips.  His last thought, his last breath, it was you.  You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean anything.”  Lister felt tears trickling down his face, soaking into the back of Rimmer’s shirt.  He felt ashamed.  “Smeg, man.  I’m here throwing a tantrum because I’m afraid you loved him more than me.  I should be more scared that I’m not worthy of loving you the way he did.”

            Rimmer turned and wrapped his arms around him.  “I never loved him more than you,” he told him, his voice low and serious, “Just in a very different way.”  

“I know that,” Lister responded guiltily.  He thought of the accusations he’d thrown at Rimmer the day he’d found that microchip and hated himself, not least because he knew now that part of his reaction had been more than just disgust at the thought of a sexual relationship between the two.  It had been outright jealousy.  He’d been infuriated by their intimacy from the moment he’d first seen them together, but he hadn’t understood what he’d been feeling until now.  “I know that you loved him in a way that was pure and good and innocent.”  Lister felt hot wet drops fall onto his head.  He buried his face in Rimmer’s shoulder and squeezed him tight.  “But you don’t have to love _me_ that way.  You can love me in any way you want.  Because I’m the Lister who needs you now.  And I love you.  Maybe not more than he did,” he tilted his face up in a half-smile, “But in a very different way.”  

 


End file.
